Potter's Spawn
by insert-original-name-here
Summary: Three drabbles featuring each of Harry's children going to the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts and meeting Snape's portrait for the first time. Now finished : .
1. James

**Hey. Here's my first little drabble. I am still writing my other story, if you're reading it – which you're probably not – but I've had a kind of writers' block and this came into my head – partly influenced by a picture I've seen – so I wrote it. I have written the next chapter of my other one now and I'm editing it so it should be up in the next few days.**

**So, starting with James. I kind of feel bad for him because for some reason I always imagine him as really mean but I don't think he seems that way in this.**

**I'm not sure about the title, so if you think of a better one, tell me.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter = Not mine.**

Yes, there was a broad grin on James' face as he walked into the office. And, no he wasn't at all nervous as he stood waiting. The headmaster would be here soon, he had been told; maybe that should have made him worry. After all, he wasn't exactly here to be given a hundred house points. But he couldn't. All he could do was swell with pride at having managed to do something _cool_ enough to get sent to the Headmaster's office in just his first year of school. In just his first month actually. And it wasn't as if what he'd done was that bad: probably just the kind of thing his namesakes – or his awesome uncles – would have done. That thought only made him swell with more pride.

He had been so proud, in fact, that he hadn't been able to take in the office immediately, but now he looked, he realised it looked magnificent. The desk and little tables, littered with fantastically elegant objects – including, in one case, a battered copy of a book called _Lord of the Rings_ – the sorting hat, which had put him in Gryffindor a few weeks ago, earning a vast amount of respect from him; Gryffindor's sword – his dad had told him about that. The things that interested him the most, though, were the pictures, sleeping portraits lining the walls, filling a large amount of the circular room.

"Hm. It looks like another one of the Weasleys has decided to grace this office with their presence. I don't pretend I'm surprised," James whipped around, startled: he had been told the pictures didn't wake up, but glaring down a slimy-looking nose at him was a sour looking man. A vase of lilies graced his dark painting with a lonely splash of colour. Obviously, he had recognised the red hair.

"Well, technically, sir, I'm not a Weasley. I'm a Potter. But my mum was a Weasley,"

This seemed to only make the man even grumpier. "Well aren't I _lucky_ to be in your company, Mr Potter. I'm even less surprised that you've found your way here: Potters seem to have an unfortunate attraction to trouble. I suppose you're just like your father and your grandfather," as he spoke, his eyes met James', seeming to study them for a second, then flicked quickly away, deliberately not meeting them again, but James ignored it, consumed by pride at the comparison he had made.

"Yes. Everyone says I'm like my grandfather. Well, everyone who knew him. And I'm quite like my dad too, but-"

The portrait cut him off "Arrogant toerags, the both of them. Your father may have had some shred of decency but if you're anything like them, I don't look forward to seeing you again," and he was going back to sleep before James realised he had finished speaking.

"Wait! You're Professor Snape aren't you? My dad wasn't an arrogant toerag. He named my little brother after you, but now I've met you, I wish he hadn't," he couldn't be sure that the picture had heard. By the time he'd finished, the sleep looked very convincing, but he had thought he saw a flicker pass across Snape's face as he had spoken.

Quickly, James abandoned his thoughts as he heard footsteps: the headmaster was finally approaching and as he did, a shred of worry finally made it into James' head, even as he told himself that what he did was worth it. But before the footsteps reached the door, he thought he heard a slight chuckle from a dozing, silver haired painting, and the portrait he had been speaking to allowed thoughts to pass through his head, wondering whether there was something behind what James had said, or whether it was just some twisted version of the old Potter arrogance.

**Reviews would be awesome if you like. If you do want to read my other story, It's called Three Questions and Their Answers.**


	2. Albus

**Hey, it's the next bit of this. How very exciting. Sorry it's been a while since the last one. I'd say I was focussing on my other story but I barely posted any of that either, so I have no excuse.**

**Now it's Albus. He's in Slytherin. I don't normally see him as a Slytherin but it's more surprising for Snape this way. And he has managed to accidentally start a fight with Scorpius Malfoy. I don't know how and I know it's a bit weird and doesn't really make sense but it's just a random little drabbly thing. I'm sure he found some way.**

**Disclaimer - now I get to tell you that Harry Potter doesn't belong to me again. How exciting. Well, guess what? It's not mine.**

James had told him it was cool, exciting, fun even – at least the first time. But if that really had been the case for his brother, Albus could feel none of it. As he glanced around the office in a kind of subdued awe, the only thought that made it past the worry and guilt in his head was that Rose would appreciate all the books. Rose – _she _had got into Gryffindor, _and_ managed to go the whole of her first term without accidentally starting a fight and getting sent to the Headmaster's office. Lucky Rose.

He turned again to the blond boy standing across from him; he looked worried too. Or... he was pale anyway. But then he was always pale. In any case, they had both been frantically apologising to each other ever since they had realised – or half realised, Albus still wasn't exactly sure about how it had happened – what was going on. Shifting awkwardly, he began again "I'm sorry, Scorpius. I didn't actually mean to-" how was he supposed to carry on? It sounded more feeble each time he said it.

"It's OK. It was as much my fault as-"

"Oh dear..." both boys jumped, Albus glancing around, at a complete loss "I don't doubt that _you're_ a Potter..."

An expectant pause followed, during which Albus looked around wildly until he saw Scorpius' eyes fixed on the portrait of a thin, black haired past headmaster. "Um," what was he supposed to say to that? James hadn't even told him they woke up, let alone started asking awkward questions. "Er... well..."

His hard, black eyes met Albus', lingering there for a moment, before the painted man seemed to dismiss a wayward thought and continued silkily "I expect you're not going to be a pleasure to have around either, then. Though of course that only means I'll see you all the more..."

"Um," he stopped; there wasn't really anything to say, surely. Biting his lip, he glanced around the office for help, but the only other person there was Scorpius, who gave him a sympathetic look, but seemed just as confused and nervous as he was.

"Of course, you look even more like your father than your brother does. And from what I hear you have been... fighting. I wouldn't worry: I'm sure your renowned grandfather would be proud,"

For a moment Albus was glad that he had stopped, then he realised he was staring intently at him, expecting a reply. "Um," he could have slapped himself. Wasn't there anything he could think of to say? Mentally squirming, he fixed his eyes on the vase of lilies in the picture, as if hoping for inspiration.

"Are you Severus Snape?" shocked, Albus glanced up, and then realised Scorpius was speaking. He shot the other boy a thankful grin as the picture nodded. "My father thinks highly of you," the blond continued, "he says you were his favourite professor for, er... most of his time here,"

"You're Draco Malfoy's son?"

Scorpius was nodding, but before the portrait could reply Albus realised he was talking too. "So does mine," he was slightly taken aback by the way the man looked down his angular nose in scornful surprise. "Very highly. He... um... he says you were... er... the bravest man he knew..." a flicker of something that Albus didn't recognise at all seemed to pass across Snape's face and after a pause, he added "and I'm called Albus Severus. After you,"

Albus thought he saw something like respect on the portrait's features, but quickly – before he could be sure – it gave way be sure to something between confusion and a half-sneer "Apparently naming one of his children after me _automatically_ and _undoubtedly_ makes Potter a virtuous person. I said to your brother that perhaps your father had a shred of decency in him, though of course I never saw anything of the kind in _his _father, whom you seem to resemble greatly. You have, I repeat, began fighting within your first weeks of school..."

"That wasn't really his fault, sir. It was me as much as it was him. It was an accident-"

"Your brother seems to already be becoming... remarkably similar to them. I begin to doubt there will ever be a member of your family who isn't,"

He winced slightly. The ex headmaster didn't realise how wrong he was. Albus only wished he was more like his family "Really, sir, I'm not much like them,"

"I don't find that easy to believe, Potter,"

Well, maybe if the portrait accepted it one good thing would come of it. But it wouldn't be worth it. Not nearly. "Sir, I'm in Slytherin, but... um... no one else in my family was..." _and my brother hasn't yet stopped teasing me about it_.

This time the headmaster didn't completely hide his surprise, but stared unwaveringly at the two boys before him for what must have been a full minute. "Well, Albus... _Severus_ Potter, it has certainly been _illuminating _talking to you," hi voice was dripping with sarcasm, but somehow Albus thought his eyes didn't wholly agree. "however, I feel I must say that I don't hold much hope for our almost inevitable future meetings..." he paused then nodded once to the other boy and was falling asleep before Albus realised what was happening. Both boys turned away, thoroughly perplexed, but before either of them could say anything, the clipped voice spoke again "Potter. You have... Lily Evans' eyes,"

Lily Evans' eyes whipped around to meet those of the speaker, but they were, once again, convincingly closed.

**This may well be completely terrible. Reviews would be very awesome. :)**


	3. Lily

**AN - I know it's been ages, but here's the last bit. Sorry it took so long. Blame writer's block, real life, laziness, lack of confidence and focus on other stories if you like. Or just blame me.**

**Some people seemed to be specifically looking forward to Lily's bit so I hope it's OK.**

**Oh, I forgot to mention last time, thanks to _HarryPotterCat_, _IDreamOfDistantSeas, BirchTreeWoman (x2), AlexisTheCrazyBookFanatic, a burning capitol seal (x2) _and _Biabara_ for reviewing, you guys are awesome, and to anyone who put it on favourites/story alert.**

**Disclaimer - Once again, not mine. **

The circular room remained unwaveringly quiet for a few moments, even after the slight disruption as the door had swung hesitantly open then closed again, apparently of its own accord. Having left only a pause of a few seconds, however, there was a whirling motion near the centre of the room as a figure appeared from under a cloak. The smallish girl stowed the cloak away, her dark red hair reaching almost to her waist, and her eyes at first wide and impressed.

Soon, however, Lily's eyes narrowed and she muttered something under her breath: she was – apparently – glad that she hadn't risked detention for _that, _and more than a little annoyed with her brothers. They, in fact, had told her that the mass of portraits lining the walls woke up, that they _spoke_ and that one of them harboured a particular interest in their family. She scoffed. As magnificent as the office was, as impressive as the portraits were, they may as well have been muggle pictures for the amount of action they contributed.

Maybe the office was worth seeing, but, Lily recalled furiously, James had advised her that she would have to do something to get sent there in order to see and talk to the almost inanimate objects, and even Albus had backed up the story. It was, of course, just the kind of thing her oldest brother would do to try to get her into trouble when she'd barely even started school and she was certain he was the instigator, and had just persuaded Albus to help him. Lily suspected his methods of persuasion had been illicit, and added that to her list of things to confront him about.

"At least the office is impressive," she mused, making a mental note to thank Hugo for helping her to sneak in instead of deciding to cause trouble for it. "For heaven's sake, I'm going to _murder_ James Potter,"

"Lily Evans," the quiet voice came from behind her, and stopped so suddenly that she thought her brothers' lies had prompted her to imagine it altogether.

Slowly, she turned, and gasped. One of the paintings had woken after all, and it appeared to fit Albus' description, from the cross, black eyes – narrowing slightly even as she looked at him – to the vase of lilies on his desk.

"It's – ah, it's Potter actually," she answered hastily. Maybe she wouldn't be confronting James this time after all.

"Potter. Of course," Levels of bitterness unrivalled even by that Parkinson girl in her year had marched into his voice. "Doubtless you'll now wish to give me a passionate defence of your father's virtues. Your grandfather's too?"

"I don't know. Do you... dislike them then? Or, I mean _did_ you?"

"Do I dislike the Potters?" The man in the painting smiled thinly, humourlessly. He seemed almost reluctant to continue, but eventually he added "Perhaps I may have been inclined to... think differently, but apparently you are either as ignorant or as thoughtless and self-important as your brothers,"

Suddenly, something slipped into place "Oh," Maybe she would confront James after all. She wished he had warned her to connect the portrait with the man their dad sometimes mentioned, "You're Severus Snape. Aren't you?"

"Ah, realisation dawns on Miss – Potter," the words were dry, clipped.

"Right. But – why does me not realising who you were mean I'm ignorant? Should I be _expected_ to know?" To anyone who knew her family, maybe she would be; maybe she would be guilty that she had overlooked it. But now curiosity about _why_ the painting of the man her dad had known years ago expected her to know all about him took precedence. Fortunately, she seemed about to get an explanation.

"I have – unsurprisingly – encountered your brother many times. Often his conversations have been loud and insistent enough that I have heard about what your father has told your family."

"Right," her companion was becoming increasingly annoyed, the conversation increasingly awkward, and as she cast her mind about to salvage it, she was brought back to how it had started "Wait, my Grandma Potter was called Lily Evans, wasn't she?" that made sense; people always said she looked like her dad's mum, so she could easily be mistaken for her.

Snape, however, seemed loath to talk about it and too late she remembered what her dad had said about the man before her and her grandmother when he was telling them about the war. After a brief movement that could have been a nod of his head, he stiffly brushed the comment aside, replying instead with his general opinion of all three Potter children "Our conversation has been brief, Miss Potter, but it seems you may be very much your father's daughter. As such, I don't look forward to meeting you again, so perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me how you got in here uninvited. I'm sure the headmaster would like to prevent it happening again."

The man seemed as odious as most people seemed to think; in any case, Lily was liking him less and less, but he _had_ been a headmaster, so she replied anyway, thinking back "Er, James and Al told me I should come, and see the portraits, and James said he's been in here loads," here the teacher seemed to make a small scoff of assent " and every time he comes in he sees stuff about this book, _Lord of the Rings_, so I thought probably the headmaster likes it and the password would maybe be something to do with it. And I have this cousin Hugo, it's his favourite book – well, the only one he'll open unless you get him at swordpoint. Except textbooks of course, but that's beside the point. So I asked him to stand there saying things that might be the password until he found it. He _did_ get annoyed and say it was pointless, but then he did find the password too. It took _ages,_ -"

Once more, something dawned on her "Wait, _please_ don't tell him I've been here. Er, sir," but it was futile. The professor's eyes seemed to have closed before she'd even finished explaining, and without her noticing. She even thought she could see his lips curling into a bitter sneer, flipping her mind back to his bitter voice earlier, his stubborn refusal to listen to her. "You expect me to defend my dad and his dad. I know my dad, and he's not _nearly_ as bad as you seem to think, but I never even met my granddad, so it's a bit... _ignorant_ to suggest I would, especially when you did know him, at least better than I did." She felt her ears warming at the tips and muttered "sir" before continuing "people I trust say he was great, and he probably was, in some ways. But you knew him, and from what my dad says, your opinion of him makes complete sense, so I'm definitely not going to start making a _passionate defence_ of him to you,"

Her speech stopped abruptly; she had surprised herself with how insulting she had seemed, how long she had talked for, as well as – apparently – Professor Snape, whose eyes flickered and fixed once more on her. Suddenly she was thinking again, and realised she had just been arguing both vehemently and one-sidedly with a picture. With a picture that used to be a headmaster of Hogwarts. "I can defend my dad if you like though, sir," she mumbled to the floor "I _do _know him, probably better than you do," but she had only had time to catch a glimpse of his half-frown before she heard the footsteps of the current headmaster on the stairs and had to fumble hurriedly for the cloak she had been wearing, swishing out of sight, and hoping that the approaching teacher wouldn't be told about her uninvited entrance. _Not likely_ the Potter reflected _I've annoyed him more than ever now._

The portrait appeared to consider, and she could hear the reluctance in his voice, as he muttered, with the footsteps getting closer "You look... you look very like your grandmother, ah... Lily – Potter. Except your eyes. You have Potter's eyes." Even as she left, the question as to whether that was a good thing or a bad thing whirled incessantly through her head, and it wasn't until weeks later – after she had decided the headmaster must not have found out about her visit – that she recognised the tone that had been skulking on the edge of his voice. One which she only then realised he had also started the conversation with – hope.

**There you go. Hope it's OK. :)**


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